Bartholomew Barker, Poet

I tuck you in my pocket
when I go out and about
so we can talk
while I walk.

Smell this dogwood blossom
that just fell at my feet.
Listen to those crows
squawking up in the trees.

<...

I, who have been gone so long
that we built different lives.

How could I let this and this
and all the rest...

Not too far up in my old tree
there’s a fork of branches
making a nice safe place to sit
almost a cradle in a womb of green
as the leaves unfurl like a fancy lady’s fan

Warm spring afternoons a...

Puddles in parking lots
always fit their potholes
and here am I, looking
down on a blue planet,
my body in a strange
suit, in a little ball
of metal.

The Pacific below,
the moon h...

All the world’s in pain.
The summers are stifling.
Wildfires roam the forests.

And this is just what we’ve done
to our climate. I try not to think
about what we do to each other.

So, ...